


Just Friends

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Musicalbabes, UST, Unregistered Attraction, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: “I’m not jealous!” Beetlejuice argued, “It’s just… you’re mine!”“Yours?” Lydia arched a brow at him, “And what, praytell, makes me yours?"
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 7
Kudos: 276





	Just Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! Hope you didn't think I'd let the year go out without one more babes fic. Hope you all enjoy and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Lydia should have known better than to let Beetlejuice back into her life. She should have banished him to the rooftop when they found out the bureaucracy of the dead insisted that their sham of a marriage made him _her_ responsibility which was why they’d dumped him back into their house in the first place. Beetlejuice was nothing but trouble, period, end of story. And yet… she’d been swayed by her own traitorous heart, by the nostalgia of three days grace from everything; the first taste of what it really meant to be an adult. To have absolute and total freedom. So she’d let him back in. Despite her parents’ warnings, despite their reminders of all the hell he'd put them through, she’d let him back in. And ever since, it had been nothing but trouble.

Granted, it was the sort of trouble that usually made every hassle worthwhile. Misadventures, pranks, screams and laughter everywhere. For all his flaws, it could never be said that Beetlejuice wasn’t a fun guy to be around. But the problem was he had flaws, the kind of flaws that weren’t easy to ignore. He was clingy, and emotionally unstable, often flipping through indicative hair colors of emotion like Claire Brewster flipped through outfits. And when those traits combined he could be the worst sort of brat imaginable.

Like tonight, she’d been dogged by him all damn night. And eventually she’d just left early to avoid a bigger headache than the one already throbbing at her temples. Storming past her father and Delia, and even the Maitlands as they came down to check on her, Lydia slammed the door to her room, pointedly ignoring the smug and self-satisfied demon who floated in after her. He was prattling on and on about how great it was they’d finally decided to ditch that lame ass school dance and go have some real fun. And for some reason it really set her off. More than his more annoying tendencies normally would have. It was as if she'd been a camel and this had been the straw that broke her back. Lydia whirled on him with her hands on her hips,

“You need to shut up right now,” she seethed at him, feeling herself viscerally shake with how angry she was at him. How dare he? How _dare_ he? He’d been the cause of constant frustration all damn night and now he was treating it like he’d done her a goddamn favor!

“Whoa whoa babes,” he held out a set of placating hands, “Where’s the goddamn fire?”

“You,” Lydia jabbed a finger at him, “You _are_ the goddamn fire Beetlejuice! Is it so wrong to want to enjoy a modicum of boring normalcy every now and then? You didn’t need to tag along and you didn’t need to act like a whiny petulant baby about it the entire time.”

“Oh please,” Beetlejuice scoffed, “You weren’t having any fun anyways and you know it.”

“That’s not the point!” Lydia seethed, grinding her teeth, “I should be able to at least _try_ to go out and have fun without you tagging along!”

“Wow,” Beetlejuice said, hands on his own hips now as he touched down on the floor. Suddenly, it was like _she_ was the one in the wrong for being mad at him. Like he was a martyr for always tagging along, “Sorry for making your life more interesting.”

“It was a boring school dance! It didn’t _need_ to be more than that! Not that it matters, since the only one you were actively annoying was me.”

“Yeah, because I noticed you having _such_ a good time with that nameless schmuck who kept staring down your dress every time you weren’t looking.”

“The only way you would know that was if you were doing the exact same thing,” Lydia shot back, venom evident in her tone. There was a fruitless hope he might feel shame and perhaps a little remorse for what he'd done, but nope. He was as predictable as always.

“So what?” Beetlejuice asked her, nonplussed by the accusation, “You already know what kinda guy I am. For Satan’s sake you couldn’t have paired up with anyone just a little bit hotter?”

“I was assigned a partner so no one got left out,” Lydia reminded him, “It was completely random. Even if it hadn’t been, you have absolutely no right to be acting like a petulant child about it. Or a jealous boyfriend for that matter,”

“I’m not jealous!” Beetlejuice argued, hair tinting just the slightest bit pink. Yeah, but he totally wasn’t jealous, or embarrassed at being called out about it, “It’s just… you- You’re mine!”

“Yours?” Lydia arched a brow at him, “And what, praytell, makes me yours? That sham of a marriage doesn’t mean anything to anyone besides the people who stuck you here with us. And you know what? I wouldn’t be surprised if they lied about that too. I can put up with a lot of your antics Beetlejuice, but it’s only because we’re friends. And even then, we’re _just friends_.”

Out of all the insults she could have, and often _had_ , hurled at him in the heat of an argument before; this was the one that seemed to set him off the worst. Normally when they fought, and they fought like nobody’s business despite how close friends they were, he would always toe a very specific line, not wanting her to get rid of him. His abandonment issues always tended to temper him better than anything else. Especially because he knew what a lucky son of a bitch he was that Lydia had chosen to forgive him. But now, now he was mad. His hair was red, and so was his countenance. She hadn’t seen that color on him since he tried to blackmail her into marrying him in the first place. And idly through her own heightened rage Lydia wondered just what she had done to incite this sort of reaction.

In an instant, she was slammed against one of her bedroom walls with him caging her in. he was close, so very, very close. And Lydia was almost… scared. Well, not quite scared. She knew for a fact that Beetlejuice would never hurt her. That she was the only person in the entire living and undead world who had that particular distinction. But with how goofy and dumb and silly he could be, it was so easy to forget he was an ancient and powerful force of nature. One that she had just provoked. In vain, Lydia struggled against his grip, breath hitching and heart pounding. Beetlejuice leaned in and inhaled and oh _god_ was he smelling her? Lydia closed her eyes for a moment, trying to find an anchor of clarity against the whirling typhoon of insanity he’d just tossed her into. She heard a deep rumbling growl resound in his chest. And she opened her eyed in time to see liquid demonic gold boring into her own. Beetlejuice’s perpetually smirking expression was gone, replaced by something a lot more primal and feral. And he leaned in and snarled at her,

“We’re not just friends and you fucking _know_ it.”

And with that ominous proclamation he let her go and disappeared. Lydia slid down the wall, legs far too weak to hold her upright. Her heart was still pounding, her breathing was still ragged and erratic. And as she tried to pull some semblance of sense out of what had just happened she took stock of her body and realized the hot tingling sensation pooling in her pelvis. With that she had to acknowledge that in a sense, he was right. There had always been some sort of unspoken attraction between them. Something that pulled them together for reasons beyond deep seated hatred and desire for affection from their parents. Beyond their love of making people scream. Beyond her fascination with death and his fascination with life. She’d once called him a zebra carcass that had been left to rot in the African Sun, but the truth was that Lydia now realized she was _into_ that sort of thing. Or… no. It wasn’t that she was into that sort of thing. It was that she was into _him_.

Even as her breathing slowed and her heart rate returned to normal, Lydia found that the tingles of attraction and arousal refused to simmer down. She’d had a taste of his more amorous attention and she wanted more of it. God help her, she wanted _more_. What was she doing? She couldn’t seriously be contemplating doing anything of the sort with the demonic poltergeist, could she really? And yet, the flare as she considered all the possibilities, all the experience he had. She was going insane. Things had changed and yet here she was, going crazy over it. Did she not want them to change? Was it too late to go back and pretend he was just talking about the legal ramifications of her little plot against him? Even as she asked herself that question Lydia knew the truth. It _was_ too late. She couldn’t go back, so might as well press on.

She knew where to find him. He always went to the roof when he was sulking about something. But in this case, he wasn’t exactly sulking. At least, not the way he normally did. Between the whispered grunts and groans of pleasure she heard words of self deprecation. As though he was ashamed of the thoughts he used to further his own pleasure. But she must have made a noise, because she watched him freeze and immediately make himself slightly more presentable. He had a sort of sixth sense when it came to her. He always knew when she came to look for him. Otherwise, she doubted he’d have even bothered.

“ _Lydia_ ,” his voice was hoarse with satisfaction denied and longing. Naked longing that she wondered how she had missed until now.

Barefoot, she walked out onto the roof. Into his line of sight. Her dress was still on, but that was about it. Lips parted Lydia could only breathe. And she felt dry, a tongue swiping over her mouth trying to find words to express herself. Words were never her strong suit. Neither were they his. He stood there, absolutely still and unmoving. Uncharacteristic for someone usually the physical embodiment of manic, barely restrained energy. Lydia felt her heart begin to race once more. And each step of her bare feet against the surface of the roof felt like one step closer to the edge of a cliff. But would she have the courage to jump? Lydia stopped right in front of him, and breathed. Beetlejuice was breathing in time with her. Nerves and anticipation immobilizing them both. Lydia search his eyes for a moment, trying to find something, anything, that might allow her to return to the way things had been. An out, but nothing was there. She didn’t know if that relieved her or made her more nervous. Knowing that since she had been the one to follow him out here she should probably say something Lydia had to swallow past the lump in her throat. Dry, and tough, and nearly impassible she nevertheless managed to find the strength for one thing to say,

“I know,” her voice was hoarse, broken, weak. It was a voice of submission, of trepidative agreement. Of fear, not or herself or of him, but what this knowledge now meant for them. Eve had tasted of the forbidden fruit. The only question now was how much farther she was willing to go.

Beetlejuice stood there staring at her for what felt like an eternity. Lydia was of the mind that by this point her heartbeat was so loud surely he heart it trying to pound its way out of her chest. But if he did he said nothing, _did_ nothing. Had it not been for his earlier words, she might have wondered if she had misread his actions and intentions. But no, those could never be mistaken in tandem. He knew what he had said. She knew what he had meant by it. But even so, this was a bridge they would need to burn as they crossed. Because there was with absolute certainty no going back.

This time when he pounced on her she was ready for it. Her arms wound themselves around him, hands tangling in his hair as he took the first flaming step. His mouth burned icy against her own heat. Lydia had kissed and been kissed before, but never like this. Not like someone would die if she were to deny them now. Beetlejuice kissed her like she was an oasis in a desert, and every other romance novel cliche. And Lydia was more than willing to buy into cliche if it meant he wouldn’t stop. Her knees squeezed against the flanks of his midsection, legs not quite long enough to wrap themselves about him. Not that it mattered; his hands were sure and strong as they cradled her to him like the most precious thing in the world. Lydia broke apart to breathe and he responded by trailing kisses down her neck, along the neckline of her dress. Though she had never really considered the ramifications of Beetlejuice as a lover before this evening, some how the surprise occurred not that he was demanding, but rather how gentle he was. The kisses against her lips were only harsh in their suddenness, the kisses along her flesh were meant as a sort of worship rather than a mark of ownership. She expected roughness, intensity, and it was there to be sure; but all of it was tempered by what felt like genuine affection and care for her.

Lydia cradled his face in her hand, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his nose. For whatever reason, it felt so natural to do, like she’d been doing it forever and not just then. Beetlejuice gave her a big dopey grin and pressed another kiss against her lips, this time coaxing them to part and let his tongue in. Despite her reservations, she did. She thought she might taste death, or at the very least mold, mildew, or something equally as disgusting. He didn’t. He didn’t taste like much of anything, which was far more surprising than expected. But then again, nothing about him was what was expected. He was unlike any other being in existence, but he wanted her. Strange and unusual little Lydia. But was she really so different when it really came down to it?

“Whatever’s going through that pretty little head of yours better knock it off,” Beetlejuice whispered to her, “As adorable as that crease between your brows is you should only be thinking about me.”

“Why don’t you make sure that’s what’s happening then,” Lydia shot back, unable to keep snarky banter at bay, even at a time like this.

“Little cocktease, ain’t’cha?” he asked, not looking put out by the suggestion at all.

“You know you love it,” Lydia parried, smirking at him, “And speaking of things you love, wouldn’t you _love_ to get me out of this dress?”

“Bold of ya to presume,” Beetlejuice informed her, “But nonetheless accurate. Counter question though, where should I be tossing it?”

“On the floor?” Lydia replied, slightly confused by the question.

“Your floor, or the roof’s?” Beetlejuice clarified. And now it all made sense.

“ _Oh_ ,” Lydia bit her lip in thought, “Hmm… tempting as it would be to have sex on the roof; it’s also awfully close to the attic. I don’t think I’m ready for anyone else to know about this new development.”

“Your room it is then babes,” Beetlejuice nodded, and with a blink of an eye they were in her room. Man, ghost magic was convenient when it wanted to be wasn’t it?

She realized she was still in his arms and he didn’t look like he was gonna be letting go any time soon. Lydia tapped him on the shoulder, “Um… Beetlejuice?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you might need to put me down to get my clothes off,” Lydia informed him.

“With a snap I can have you naked as anything baby,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, you could,” Lydia agreed, “But isn’t unwrapping the present half the fun?”

He considered this for a moment, “Well, when you’re right you’re right,” and set her down on wobbly legs. Beetlejuice bent his head down and began nibbling at her neck again, hands running themselves along her body while trying to accomplish the goal of getting her undressed. Unfortunately, the dress was in accordance with her usual style, which meant it was difficult as hell to get both into and out of. And clearly, Beetlejuice was finding this out first hand. Lydia could sense his mounting frustration and only barely managed to stop him before he decided to rip the thing to shreds.

“Daddy paid good money for this dress,” she said between open mouthed kisses against his neck, “I wouldn’t wanna ruin it so callously,”

So she took the initiative and undid the dress herself. It fell to the ground in a heap of lace, tulle, and ribbons. Beneath it Lydia had on a set of mismatched underwear, not having expected tonight to go where it was going. A white bra and black panties wasn't exactly the most alluring combination. But Beetlejuice looked at her like she'd just donned a pair of heels and angel wings to take to the runway.

“You're beautiful Lydia,” he breathed.

Lydia couldn't help the flush that ran under her skin. Despite her own confidence in being strange and unusual, it was hard not to feel less than when the entirety of western society seemed determined to shove this hot minute’s “ideal” woman in your face. For the last little bit it had been basically the same model; big tits, big hips, and an hourglass curve in between them. Lydia was delicate and petite, and didn't exactly fit those characteristics. But Beetlejuice looked at her like she was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever clapped eyes on. It was hard to feel self-conscious with that much lustful heat cast in her direction.

Her dark eyes flirted up to his, gently taking hold of his tie, “Now you,” she insisted.

She would have thought he'd just vanish his clothes away. He used magic for just about everything, why would sex be any different? But instead he reached for his tie, and was she seeing things or were his hands trembling? He fumbled with the knot, loosening it enough to get it slipped over his head and tossed unceremoniously to the floor. His jacket followed suit, but his hands just couldn't quite manage the buttons of his shirt. Her own hands trembled as they reached out to help him. One by one, they slipped out of their catches, revealing more deathly pallid skin. His multicolored hair extended to the hair covering his arms and dusting his chest. How oddly charming. His dingy shirt slipped from his form and then he was naked from the waist up. Lydia took a deep, shuddering breath reached for the buckle on his belt. With a soft clanking that nevertheless resounded loudly in the hushed and almost reverent silence of the room it came undone, and as it fell so too did his pants. That was when she learned he didn’t wear anything under them.

“Oh,” Lydia exclaimed softly as her eyes caught his arousal. Funny enough she hadn’t expected him to be so… big. Or maybe she was just imagining it to be bigger than it was.

“Now you,” he echoed, taking her into his arms and reaching for the hooks on her bra. With deft fingers they came undone and the garment was also discarded, mingling with his in a crowded pile on the floor. When his hands curled into the band of her panties at her hips though, she stiffened. Her fingers involuntarily curled against his chest and he too stilled. Beetlejuice put a hand under her chin and gently lifted her eyes to his, “Lydia,” he breathed, ragged and coarse, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

He didn’t normally give people outs. He took what he wanted without any regard to intent or emotion. People were objects to him, playthings even. But not her. Never her. How many times had he asked her if she was sure she wanted to do something, always given her the chance to back out? But Lydia Deetz didn’t back down from anything, even though she knew this wasn’t some challenge.

“Just…” she blushed, “Be gentle,”

“Don’t know that I can,” Beetlejuice answered honestly. He always tried to be honest with her, when he could, “But,” he added as he scooped her up into his arms, “I promise ya I’ll try,”

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down like a precious treasure. A deathly cold hand brushed over her forehead, smoothing out her bangs and cradling her cheek. He moved over her, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. Then her lips, Lydia arched into that kiss, winding her arms over his shoulders, hands into his hair, taking gasping breaths as it felt like she couldn’t breathe any more. Her heart pounded like wildfire, and goosebumps raised over her flesh following the trails he made with his hands as they caressed her. By the time some small scrap of sanity returned to her Lydia realized he was down by her hips, and her last piece of clothing was gone. Her legs squeezed together before she could help it.

Beetlejuice chuckled, “Relax baby,” he whispered against her navel, dropping another kiss just above her pelvis, “I ain’t gonna hurt’cha,”

“You already did,” Lydia softly reminded him. She hadn’t meant to say it, but despite her forgiveness the fact that he’d used her for his own gain still stung somewhere deep down. Some lingering voice sinisterly telling her that no one wanted her for who she was, only for what she could give. First his freedom from invisibility, then freedom from death altogether. And yes, while it hadn’t worked, it had still hurt that that was his goal.

Beetlejuice paused, “I know,” he said quietly, “And I’m never gonna do it again. But Lydia,” he looked at her as serious as she’d ever seen him, “Even you gotta know that green card thing was all bullshit. I didn’t want _out_ , I wanted _you_. And I was willing to do whatever it took to keep you.”

Somewhere, somewhere deep down inside her, she’d known. That had been why her aim had been convincing him she _had_ fallen in love with him, and wanted to be married to him because of it. Even so, it was given new meaning to hear him say that out loud. There had always been something between them. A sort of electric chemistry that drew them together and made them work. Better than mere best friends would. It was something that made them overly self-conscious when their touches lasted long that could necessarily be considered platonic. Or when they invaded each other’s space in a manner which might suggest they were more than friends. Lydia had always been fascinated by him, this unapologetic living nightmare of a being. One so far removed from humanity and yet so very human. A walking contradiction, just like her.

Lydia felt the best kind of pain as she smiled, “I know,” she echoed, “Now make it better,”

He gave her that sort of roguish smirk that spoke volumes of up to no good. But instead of chaos or juvenile pranks he lowered his mouth back to her skin, killing a path down her body. Icy fingers ran themselves along her thighs, encouraging her to part them for him. As nervous as she was she did as she was silently instructed. And the it came, that first chill like being kissed by winter, in the place where she was currently generating the most heat. A kiss, and soft bite to the tender flesh of her inner thigh and then there were hands, dipping inside. He pulled back and inspected them, coated with the evidence of her own desire,

“Sweet,” he remarked, licking them clean like a child might do with some brownie batter, “Lemme have more,”

He lowered his mouth down once more, settling his hands on her hips to try and keep her steady. And the he devoured her. Teeth gently tugging against that insistent little bundle of nerves, tongue lapping at her folds, fingers where she thought there wouldn't be any with how tight his grip was keeping her down. Well, maybe her hips but certainly not anything else. Her mind was awash with sensations. Broken fragments of thoughts and words ebbing and flowing like waves on a beach at high tide. Distantly she heard sounds ring out, and some barely coherent part of her knew that they were all escaping _her_ throat. But the synapses in her brain were firing so rapidly as they attempted to keep up with the onslaught of sensations delayed just about everything besides the pleasure radiating out from the core of her being. Creepy old dead guy he might have been, but damned if Beetlejuice didn't know _exactly_ what he was doing. While many trashy romance novels she'd never admit dead or alive to having read compared the process to climbing a height only to jump off a cliff, Lydia’s own experience was more comparable to a tuning string. Carefully wound and pressed, but the knob was turned just a bit too tightly, and the pressure of the fingers was a push just too far in one direction. And much like a mishandled tuning string, she snapped. But this was a breakage with no upset or disappointment following after it.

When some semblance of a scrap of sanity finally returned to her Lydia opened hazy eyes to see her husband looming over her, just looking.

“What?” She asked.

“Nothing,” he replied as he dropped a chaste kiss against her lips, “Just like looking at your face,”

Lydia felt like all of her bones had been replaced with lead. Still she gathered the strength to reach up and pull him down for a proper kiss. As they got further and further into it she felt Beetlejuice’s own arousal pressing rather insistently against her hip, obviously feeling very neglected and very put out by that notion.

One of her hands snaked down between them, intent on giving back at least half as good as what she'd gotten. But he stopped her, breaking their kiss to ask,

“Now where do you think you're putting that hand of yours?” He looked at her.

Lydia’s brow furrowed a moment, lips pursing in slight confusion, “But,” she began not understanding why he was stopping her. Wasn't it like, an unspoken rule that she'd have to reciprocate? “Don’t you want me to-”

“As much as I would, and believe me, I _would_ , I won't be able to be gentle if you work me over just to get me all anxious again. 'Sides,” he added as he positioned himself right between his legs, “Lovely as your hands or lips might be I’ve got another destination in mind.”

Lydia sank back into the mattress, trying to relax as much as possible so it wouldn't hurt. She understood where he was going with this, and took a deep breath. That was when it hit her, she was really doing this. Really consummating her marriage. Really having sex with a centuries old perverted demonic poltergeist who'd put her and her family through hell. And she was doing this after only just realizing she might be attracted to him.

“Lydia,” he said again. He liked saying her name, but he usually reserved it for occasions when he wanted her to take what he was doing or saying seriously, “Are ya absolutely sure you wanna do this?” He seemed very determined to make sure he had her full knowing consent for some reason. Ironic, given that he normally didn't give a flying fuck in any similar circumstance, “‘Cause if we do, there's no going back. You'll be mine in every sense of the word, and I'm not sharing ever again.”

Theoretically this would have been the time for Lydia to mull things over and really be certain that this was what she wanted. Instead she simply arched up into him with a hiss of, _“Yesss…”_

“Alright then Baby,” he told her, lining himself up and slightly pushing into her, “It's showtime,”

And with a quick snap of his hips, he was inside her. It hurt, but surely not as much as she'd expected it to. Probably because of the spike of energy she felt jolting from his fingertips into her body. Even so, a sharp gasp escaped her. Cold. He was cold. Which to be honest, she should have expected. He _was_ dead after all. But between the size and the difference in temperature it was a bit more sensation than she’d really been prepared for. Beetlejuice halted,

“You doin’ alright baby?” he asked, brushing away a lock of hair that clung to her forehead.

“Y-yeah,” Lydia breathed, “Just… just go slow,”

And slowly he withdrew, to slowly push back in. The rhythm sedate and even. When he was able to fully seat himself inside her without resistance, he began to pick up the pace. In, out, pressing himself upon and inside her like he was all she would ever need. Lydia was once again losing all connection to reality, utterly unwound by the pounding rhythm of her heart and Beetlejuice’s hips against hers. There went that string, tighter and tighter and then. Snap! She broke, shattered completely in his arms. When she came to, she found herself cuddled against his chest while he did something somewhere between sucking on a cigarette and dozing.

“Hey Scarecrow,” he nuzzled her, “How are we feeling?”

“Sore,” Lydia groaned as she shifted, muscles all over her body wailing in protest, “Like I just got juiced to be honest.”

“God that was a bad pun,” Beetlejuice snorted, “Sure you weren’t made for me?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia gave a sly smile, “They say people who are made for each other fit together like pieces of a puzzle, wanna try again and find out?”

“Insatiable for screams and sex,” Beetlejuice remarked, “Help me now I think I’m in love,”

“And here I thought we were ‘just friends’,” Lydia teased.

“Believe me Lyds,” Beetlejuice assured her as he maneuvered her on top of him, “I never saw you as just a friend,”

“And I’ll never see you as one ever again,”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you all in 2020 Netherlings!


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